Bad Blood (35 page)

‘There is that,’ Riley said.

Riley wondered how Budgeon saw the world. If he allowed for degrees of betrayal or if every act was elevated to the same level. With Budgeon, Riley knew it was quite possible for a red mist to descend, clouding all judgement and leaving him pursuing only one avenue. He looked at Kemp.

‘What do you reckon?’

‘I think we’re hostages. He’s after Fallon and his business and should anything go wrong he can use us in some way. Must be the only reason we’re still alive.’

‘Not with me,’ Riley shook his head. ‘I busted him up in London. I was UC and Budgeon walked right into a trap. We set him up. That’s why I am here. He’s tried to get some information out of me, but in the end it’s nothing to do with
Sternway
.’

‘Shit. If you busted him then how come he’s out?’

‘We couldn’t make it stick,’ Riley said. ‘One witness couldn’t give evidence and then others retracted their statements. He had a bloody good solicitor too.’

‘Well, sounds like that solicitor signed our execution warrants, didn’t he?’

‘She,’ Riley said, remembering the confident woman who had managed to sniff out the true story and thus destroy any chance of securing a conviction.

‘Bitch,’ Kemp said, spitting into the straw and letting himself slump down.

‘Yeah,’ Riley said, thinking not of the solicitor but of the South American girl he hadn’t been able to resist. Her light brown skin, dark hair, curvy figure. Those bewitching eyes. His total and utter stupidity. ‘Bitch.’

By midday Savage had briefed Hardin on the missing satnav. He’d agreed the unit was vital evidence and authorised a search of both Dowdney’s and Towner’s places. Dowdney had lived in a flat above a hydraulic hose shop not far from the taxi business. Towner rented a council house in Devonport. An hour in, and the police search adviser was reporting a blank and recommending that Towner’s children’s places should be searched as well.

The officer could recommend all she wanted, Hardin had told Savage, but there was no legal grounds for rooting through relatives’ properties. Where would it end? Second cousins twice removed? In the end he’d placated the PolSA by dispatching inquiry teams to interview the children to see if they could shed any light on the missing unit. If any of them appeared to be lying then they could go from there.

Dead on her feet and starving too, Savage returned home. In the kitchen Pete was eating lunch, a bacon butty dripping with ketchup. The kids had been taken to school by Stefan and, according to Pete, were wondering where their mother was. Savage said sorry and explained about the fire at Tamar Yachts and the confusion over the body. About how much she loved him too.

‘I’m glad,’ Pete said, grinning. ‘Because if I didn’t know better I’d assume you were having an affair. Leaving the house in the middle of the night in the company of a young man.’

‘DC Enders?’ Savage moved over to the table and grabbed half of the sandwich. ‘No way. And, as you said, you do know better.’

‘Lucky that.’ Pete smiled, touched her on the arm and gestured at the remaining bacon in the frying pan. ‘You can have the rest of that, I’m off. Got some cadets to deal with this afternoon.’

‘OK.’ She smiled back. ‘See you later.’

Except, she thought, she might not.

drug boat in cawsand bay tonight be there

The message from Fallon relayed via Vanessa Liston.

If she ignored the message would Fallon and Jackman really expose her? If they did then Jackman would be in trouble himself, the relationship between him and Fallon out in the open and the pair of them facing trial for corruption. If the evidence from
Sternway
came out as well, then there’d be drugs charges too.

On the other hand Fallon had hinted he might be able to help find Riley. If that was true then it put the issue in an entirely different perspective. She owed it to Riley to go along with whatever Fallon was up to.

She got up and went over to the cooker. The bacon had gone cold so she turned on the gas and shook the pan as the fat started to sizzle. Then she rang Inspector Nigel Frey, head of the marine section.

Frey answered after a couple of rings. He was pleased to hear from her and after talking about the chaos out on the water at Tamar that morning, he wanted to know about Pete. They should get together soon, he said, have a few drinks. Now Pete was home they’d be racing this year, yes?

Savage interrupted him and asked how he was placed for tonight. Only, she needed a favour.

Plymouth Yacht Haven. Friday 25th January. 4.25 p.m.

‘Are you sure Pete is happy about this?’ Frey said, pulling a fender in over the side of the boat and carrying it aft.

‘Nigel,’ Savage said. ‘How many times do I need to tell you? Puffin is
our
boat. We own her jointly. And don’t tease me about her name like you did the last time we beat you in a race; Samantha came up with it and you argue with her at your peril.’

They were heading out of Plymouth Yacht Haven on Savage’s yacht, a little Westerly the family had owned for several years. The boat had taken Savage and Pete to ports along the Devon and Cornish coasts as well as to the Channel Islands, the trips something of a busman’s holiday for Pete, although a world away from commanding thousands of tons of steel frigate across oceans. Savage stood at the helm as Frey and Bob Stephens – one of Frey’s officers – pulled in the fenders and coiled the docklines. Frey opened a cockpit locker and shoved a couple of fenders in. Stephens plonked several coils of rope on top.

‘As long as the boss-man is cool with it,’ Frey said. He dropped the lid of the locker, clicked the catch shut and then pointed ahead to where a sailing dinghy was crossing their track, bobbing on the waves left over from the passing Mountbatten ferry.

‘Got them.’ Savage turned the boat to pass behind the dinghy and the crew waved a ‘thank you’. ‘About thirty minutes from the end of the Mountbatten breakwater, OK?’

‘Thirty minutes! We’d do the trip in five in the RIB.’

‘Yeah, well you can’t brew a cup of tea on the RIB can you? And if you want to have a comfort break you have to do it in your drysuit.’

They rounded the breakwater and at once felt the long, loping swell coming from the south-west. Savage turned the boat and then flicked the switch on the autopilot. The wheel in front of her began to move left and right as the unseen computer took control and steered a course towards Cawsand Bay, where the sun had already set, leaving a pale sky above the dark Cornish coastline.

Frey came aft again and sat in the cockpit along with Stephens. Savage remained standing and the three of them went over the plan once more.

Before they reached the bay Stephens would go below and remain out of sight. Savage and Frey would pilot the boat in and find an anchorage to the south of the bay. In the summer the place would be rammed with yachts, but even in the winter one or two hardy locals would brave the cold for a night at anchor, so their yacht wouldn’t look suspicious. They would then cook a meal and retire early, not out of the ordinary for a couple. With the only light on the boat, the anchor light, high on the top of the mast, they would be able to use the night-vision binoculars Frey had brought along to keep watch on their target.

As Frey and Stephens went further into the details Savage wondered exactly what Fallon had planned, what kind of set-up he would lead them into. She didn’t think they were in any danger; Fallon wouldn’t be so stupid. Likely it was some kind of diversion. She tried to convince herself she was only going along with his plans because of Riley. At least Hardin had seized on the idea when she’d told him she had received an anonymous tip-off from a reliable source.

‘Could be the last throw of the dice for
Sternway
,’ he’d said, looking grim. ‘Quite possibly for Riley too. The Liston girl has turned out worse than useless. Intel is as thin as a piece of bog paper. Everything at Tamar has turned to ash. The Chief Constable is coming tomorrow. We need something. Anything.’

Hardin had even suggested she liaise with Frey over the set-up and timing of the operation, which had made Savage happier over his involvement. At least she wasn’t asking him to step out of line for her.

‘And the target is already there?’ Stephens asked.

‘Yes,’ Savage said, pulling herself from her own thoughts. ‘The boat anchored up in the centre of the bay about an hour ago. It looks as if it’s the missing cruiser from Tamar Yachts.’

‘You got people over there watching? I can just see DC Calter walking into a pub in Cawsand on a cold January night. They’d probably print a story in the parish magazine.’

‘No. You can see the bay from my house. We’ve got a big spotting scope in the living room so I put Jamie on the job.’

‘I knew the force was having to cut back, but employing a six-year-old?’

Savage smiled and then pulled the hood on her waterproof up and zipped the front up tight. A crepuscular glow from behind the low Cornish hills was all that remained of the day and the temperature was dropping fast. There was a breeze coming from the west and the wind raised a myriad of cat’s paws which danced this way and that on top of the swell. Out in the Sound a naval auxiliary vessel was tied up to one of the huge buoys and its deck lamps glowed orange, becoming ever brighter as night fell.

‘At this rate we will be anchoring in the dark,’ Frey said, a little smile forming on his lips.

Savage knocked the throttle lever forward, adding a knot to their speed and the boat ploughed on through the now-inky sea.

By the time they reached Cawsand Bay the lights in the village were bright, their reflections sparkling in the water. At least the wind had died now they were in the shelter of the Rame Peninsula. One other yacht lay tucked away close to the wooded hillside and in the centre of the bay sat a large white motorboat surrounded by a strange blue glow from a number of underwater lights.

‘That must be her,’ Frey said. ‘Not exactly keeping a low profile are they? Quite a sight. Probably cost more than your boat is worth just to fill her fuel tanks.’

‘Call me a snob, but I know which I’d rather be on,’ Savage said.

‘All that white leather not your thing then?’ Frey laughed and moved out of the cockpit and up to the bow and began to ready the anchor. Savage circled the boat and picked out a suitable spot. A couple of bursts of throttle in astern slowed and then stopped the boat. Frey dropped the anchor and Savage gave the engine some more power in astern until they began to glide backwards. The anchor chain rattled out and after they had backed down enough Frey snubbed the anchor and Savage put some more power on to dig it in. The chain stretched out in front of the boat, bar taut, and Frey indicated the anchor was holding. Savage cut the engine.

Silence.

A car in a lane somewhere revving up a hill. A dog barking. The rhythmic sound of the swell surging onto the beach.

‘OK, so what do we do now?’ Frey had come aft.

‘We do what couples do when anchored in a remote spot.’ Savage smiled as Frey raised his eyebrows. ‘Put the curry on and get out our image intensifiers.’

Budgeon stared down at the headline on the front page of the paper.

Police Fear Body May Be Missing Officer.

Today’s news, already out of date.

‘They were never going to fall for it, Ricky,’ Stuey said. ‘Thick they may be, but they’re not idiots.’

‘And I am, is that what you mean?’ Budgeon scrunched the paper and threw it across the workshop. ‘We were so close to getting Kenny. If he hadn’t sped off in that boat of his he’d have been barbecued like Dowdney. I’ve had it, Stuey, fucking had it.’

‘I was just saying, that’s all.’

‘Well quit. In fact fuck off out of here before I lose my rag and thump you.’

‘Careful, Ricky. You wouldn’t want to do that.’

For a moment Stuey rose up. He was lanky, but he could move fast. Budgeon thought he’d probably be able to take the lad, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

‘Sorry.’ Budgeon held his hands up in surrender. ‘The head, Stuey. Getting to me. The pain.’

‘Well take some fucking aspirin.’ Stuey turned and stomped out of the workshop, cursing as he went.

Budgeon clenched his fists, gritted his teeth and sucked in air, feeling the chill of the night cool his insides and calm him. He relaxed. Stuey was right. The police were never going to think Dowdney’s corpse was Riley. Not with DNA and all that. But the diversion had been worth a try and the fact that the body had been discovered at Tamar Yachts would only serve to increase Fallon’s unease. He’d have realised he’d escaped the same fate through sheer luck.

When he’d blown the top half of Dowdney’s head away, Budgeon had felt a few seconds blissful release, the like of which he hadn’t felt when he’d killed Owers or Redmond. Those two men had been incidental to him, but Dowdney had blabbed to the police and he’d screwed Lynn Towner too. Just like Fallon had.

Budgeon walked across to the workbench and began gathering some things together. His hands shook as he piled tools into a bag. He picked up a hammer and held it for a second, his hand clenched hard around the handle.

Jackman, Fallon, Riley.

The feeling when they were all gone would be heaven. The nirvana he’d long been seeking. And Riley was only a few metres away. Ten steps across the yard. How easy it would be to go to him now. Bring the hammer down on the man’s kneecaps. Smash his fingers. Swing the lump of metal into his skull over and over again until his brain was nothing but mush.

Budgeon raised the hammer high into the air and looked at his arm shaking above him. The lump end glinted in the light from the overhead tubes and a beam flashed across his eyes like a laser. The effect was instant and he raised his other arm to cover his face as he felt the rage boil and bubble inside. He let out a roar of pain. The cop had to die and right now seemed like a good time. He lowered the hammer, placed it on the workbench and let his eyes scan the rows of chisels, the screwdrivers, the billhook, an axe, a hacksaw. So many ways to kill …